Spencer’s got the sweetest face. Even if she committed a string of atrocious acts, streamed it live on the 5 o’clock evening news, a jury wouldn’t convict her on account of that face. Her pretty veneer says she’s innocence personified; the poster-child of morality. I know better. When she comes looking for me with wet panties and a hankering for those nasty, torrid things we do, her typically coy blue eyes are rife with fire and brimstone.

I’m on the bleachers, unabashedly eye fucking her with the rest of the depraved spectators. The cheerleading squad is engaged in an overtly sexual dance routine. I think Madison’s true calling is choreography, you know, strip clubs, exceptionally racy burlesque shows, or perhaps even some sort of slutty musical, assuming there’s a venue for slutty musicals?

The heat emanating off her writhing body smudges out her immediate surroundings like a mirage on a hot, dusty day. I swear the air around her is blistering, hissing out complaints, begging for a cool respite. I grit my teeth. I can’t stand looking at her with all this want and not reaching out to touch… trace my palms up her smooth legs and over her supple ass.

I’m the only one in the parking lot. It took some slick maneuvering to get past the abnormally dense crowds without grazing a boner, but voila, here I am. I’m stretched out against the hood of my car with a small pile of half-spent cigarettes littered at my feet. I took up smoking to pass the monotony between our trysts. Her poison isn’t much better than the shit in these cigarettes. Either way, she’ll kill me. I figure, why not take the edge off from Point A to, well, death?

“Let’s go.” It’s her.

“Did you fall off the top of the pyramid and bump your head? The game’s not even over yet.” I give her a discreet eyeballing and take a pull of my cigarette.